


Close Eyes, Open Heart

by Sonny



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Challenge Response, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-09
Updated: 2008-03-09
Packaged: 2017-10-14 18:42:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/152286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonny/pseuds/Sonny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Original Prompt : Close your eyes... Think of one object that's in the room and focus on it. Without opening your eyes, recall as much detail as you can about it. After 3minutes or so... Open your eyes and write about that object without looking at it) ; Brian/Michael Prompt : Pretend you're Brian or Michael... Think of something they would find, a special object or each other, to pick in a room (anywhere, not just their own places) and as they close their eyes, how much detail would they retain about who or what they're thinking about? Have them discover something recent/Have them discover something from the long-standing friendship together. Write about what they see, how what they've remembered makes them feel...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Eyes, Open Heart

**MICHAEL -**

_**Every time he looks at it, he's reminded of the moment it came into his life--the moment that he loves best, above all others.** _

The moment began by accident. The daily grind of the 9-to-5 work at the Big Q-Mart was turning him into an old man at barely twenty-one years old. He returned to his apartment, after an extremely tiring day. He fretted about the place, feeling as if eyes were constantly boring into him, watching his every move from above the mantel.

He had settled into a sad routine, formed a year ago while Brian had been away at college. He had recollection of how long he had been forced to live at home, once Brian had left. Not lasting a full semester at community college, Debbie would've loved to have had her precious son stay.

Forever, if possible.

But Michael had felt stifled - _a bit suffocated_ \- needing his own space the second he had come back from seeing how independent Brian had been in his own dorm room. He suddenly desired to keep his personal life _private_ , and his nosy mother away from his day-to-day dilemmas.

When he finally moved out of his childhood home, he lucked out on finding a tiny, shabby-chic apartment, with low rent and just enough space to make him feel cozy-comfy. The day he moved in, Brian couldn't make it. It was such a momentous moment, Brian felt compelled to do _something_ special for his best friend. Michael planned a small "apartment warming" party, with mostly family and a few new neighbors he had bumped into along the way.

Brian warned him to attempt to be home on a certain day, at a specific time. Michael obliged, since it was his only day off after a grueling workweek. There was a "gift" on its way, in honor of Brian being unable to attend his party.

When the "gift" arrived, Michael couldn't imagine what the hell Brian had sent him. The package was flat, for one. And very large, for another.

The card attached simply read, _**"Think of me -- when you dream of him – Always, Your Hero"**_

Michael's brow had furrowed in confusion, not sure what was beneath the plain brown wrapping paper. The second he had torn the paper off, Michael had run into the bathroom, slamming the door shut. He had found he could barely breathe, not fathoming what exactly what he had been sent _meant_. He had started to slowly tear up, then gradually had begun to bawl his eyes out when he wasn't able to stop the droplets from falling. Heart aching and fingers clenching the sides of the pedestal sink, Michael had glanced up at his reflection in the small medicine cabinet mirror, trying to see what Brian could only see.

Just when he had started to doubt Brian's affections, fearing he had moved on - _that he hadn't cared for or loved him as much as he adored Brian_ \- something miraculous had occurred, knocking Michael off his feet and making him completely breathless with wonder. These particular moments had assured him his gut about his best friend had been right, and other peoples' assumptions were dead wrong. It hadn't looked as if Brian was budging, even from this distance between them.

He tentatively had opened the bathroom door, hand on hip and one over his shaking lips as he approached the "gift" leaning against the bare wall. It had started to sink in finally that the potential he once dreamed of still remained. What he wasn't sure of was if it had become stronger than ever or fading quite slowly, if he wasn't careful. Whichever it was Michael knew Brian had been listening more than he thought. Even when he had teased and taunted, pranced and prodded, Brian knew Michael from skin to bone. Somehow it was okay that the true emotions weren't concrete, but the confidence had grown back.

The paper was ripped off further, the tears still falling, but quietly contained by a dazzling smile of deep love and affection.

As he had stepped away to look at the "gift" from a distance, Michael's two greatest loves were represented--Brian Kinney, for giving the present, and Captain Astro, a simple, yet meaningful, cardboard cutout of the superhero in flight. Michael had made a wide turn about the room, attempting to find the perfect spot for the first sentimental gift for his new apartment. It had deserved a high honor of placement, somewhere where no one would be able to mistake its importance. Not even the gift-giver.

...Michael re-opened his eyes, staring down at the Captain's fierce gaze with a powerful fist punching forward. He couldn't believe how clear that memory was after such a long time.

" _ **... MICHAEL! Are you down here?!**_ " Heavy footsteps clomped on the wooden stairs, leading into the basement where Michael had been hiding.

~~&&~~&&~~&&~~&&~~

**BRIAN -**

_**Every time he looks at it, he's reminded of the moment it came into his life--the moment that he fears most above all others.** _

This moment began back in college, during an art course he had been taking in Freshman year. He hadn't known what career field to decide on. He basically had decided to try his hand at the whole creative gamut to prove his mettle--Art, Photography, Drawing, Sculpting and Videography.

There was one specific class he had become hesitant to take. He wasn't into _instant_ creation-- _off the_ _spur of the moment_. He wanted to take time, bring the work home and almost live and breathe it. Sometimes take it to bed and fuck it. 

It had been one of the few classes he had barely scraped by the seat of his pants in. Not that he couldn't finish the work on command or handle the teachings in the class, itself. It had been that he had become too busy trying to "flirt" with every single one of the male subject matters-- _Drawing the Human Form_ was the class, coupled in second year with _Painting the Human Form_. And lucky for Brian, the artists would be called upon to attempt nude subjects often.

Brian had been good at the classwork, if he would only stop treating the class like the local gay pick-up establishment, scoring male models' numbers left-n-right.

The day _**he**_ had shown, Brian had been late. Not only had he been late, he had become cocky about his lateness. He had given his instructor the "eye" to try and chew him out. The newest male subject had already been seated on the stool, back was facing Brian's workstation. He had tiptoed over to his particular easel and had begun to draw the minute he swiped up his charcoal. Except the second he had glanced up, he had to do a double-take with jaw falling slack.

In that millisecond of time, one name had whispered over his lips, choking in his throat, " _ **... Michael?**_ " 

No, it _hadn't_ been. It _couldn't_ be. 

There was irrefutable proof; same coal black hair, same pale skin and rounded bare bottom. Even down to the dark hair coating the thinly muscular legs.

Brian had gazed about the classroom to see if anyone else had paid attention to his hushed outburst. No one had heard him, lost in their own imaginations. That had helped when he had continued to stare for forty seconds, then had begun to draw the form of the male body on the stool.

Only he hadn't used the subject in front of him as his model. Brian had actually been able to close his eyes and sketch from sheer memory. He had recalled his Professors telling him how different emotions were felt at the time of creating art – _what you happened to feel for the "subject" you were drawing_. The more pure and real the feeling, the more the creation would blossom. There was no mistaking Brian had started sketching Michael's body, but the naked version was one he had only caught sight of in bits-n-pieces, never getting the full show. The rest of the details from his own agonizing imagination.

A set timer had gone off in the room, telling the model fifteen minutes had passed and to concoct a new pose. This time he had decided to face Brian directly. Had Brian _not_ been thinking of Michael he probably would've noticed the beautiful young French-Asian model's intense stare, then his broad smile. He had begun to flirt, but little did he know how transparent he had become, Brian having seen right through him.

The male model had spread one leg outward, the other he had splayed open on the surface of the padded seat, causing his dark black pubic curls to expose themselves out of the shadows of his curved body. He had leaned forward, grabbing the edge of the stool, feeling his once limp cock quivering to grow erect. He had known he had to remain still, but his hand went to touch his chest, send fingers down his torso.

Brian had become so intensely rooted in his own head - that strong and steady memory of Michael – nothing had phased him. He had appeared determined to do his best work ever. He had been shaking so much after he was done that he had bolted out of the classroom, getting his first well-deserved "A" on a great accomplishment.

_"It can't be true... It can't be true... It can't be true."_

Brian had known why college had become tough for him after the transition from high school-- _his one true constant was gone_. Not for good, but not being beside him had constituted complete desertion in Brian's mind. He had felt the rise of emotions, several clogging him of speech and only one causing his eyes to water quickly. 

" _... oh gawd... I still care... still love him... damn, I'm a mess..._ " 

Brian had used the side of his wrist to wipe at his eyes, calming himself to some semblance of cool. He had known what would help most, and best. He had planned on cutting classes for the day; he had a phone call to make once he got back to his dorm room. Hopefully, Michael would be on a break from work so he could talk.

He had tried to forget that day, had tried to forget the drawings he had created in the class. They had returned to haunt him in later years. He had refused to take _Painting the Human Form_ as a class his second year, but _someone_ had. And that someone had the opportunity to use _any_ previous drawing they found in the _Drawing the Human Form_ class from past years. Out of a thousand choices, this random artist had chosen Brian's sketches. He couldn't recall how he found out, but he had been able to find _that_ exact painting. Upon graduating college, he had bought that mural-sized picture and had taken the extremely large canvas as one of his most prized possessions into his new loft.

It had become a reminder to himself that he could _never_ let go, willing to drown in the _very thing_ he loved most, willing to do the _very thing_ he feared and willing to lose everything he was and completely disappearing, until he was consumed whole.

... Brian blinked open his eyes, no idea why _that_ specific thought and memory had entered his head. He had been such a tender-hearted fool back then. No wonder Michael had stayed away, keeping his distance. He reached out to grab both, the painting of the naked guy on a stool and the cardboard cutout of Captain Astro. He was holding each in one hand, making Michael be the evil doer and choose which one to throw out.

"Which one?"

Michael was tapping a finger on his chin. "I don't have a third option of _both_?"

"Michael..." Brian fidgeted like a bratty child. "... c'mon... now or never."

" _Mmm_..." Michael rolled his eyes, sighing heavily. "... _story of my life_."

"So?" Brian raised both eyebrows in question, ready to trash either at this point.

" **ASTRO.** " Michael spoke succinctly, demanding respect for his idol, even when it came to throwing him in the garbage.

"Oh-kay..." Brian knew that wasn't the end of Michael's decision. There was something still burning in those brown eyes.

" _ **No! Wait!**_ " Michael held out a hand. " _ **NAKED GUY!**_ " He hoped he made the right decision. He couldn't see giving up Brian's most treasured possession to make a little room.

"Mikey..." Brian nearly stomped a foot in frustration. He thought Michael had made a choice weeks ago, but every time he came down to the basement he would change his mind, talking himself out of throwing one out and keeping the other.

Especially _now_ when Michael had been told the story behind the painting of Naked Guy On Stool.

"Sorry." Michael placed his right knuckles on his hips, left hand over his lower jaw. "I don't want to throw out either, Brian."

"Fine." Brian cleared his throat, knowing the _second_ option--where _**he**_ made the decision to throw _both_ in garbage. He wasn't stupid; he knew that choice wasn't going to sit well with Michael. "You want me to let the _kids_ decide?" He pointed his index finger to the ceiling of the basement; the kids were upstairs. They were spending the day with their fathers. 

" _u_ _hm... nooo..._ " Michael hooked his thumbs in the back portion of his waist. Jenny Rebecca wasn't even talking yet and the only "naked" thing she had seen was herself in the tub, The Muppets on screen and the accidental time she had barged into her Daddy and Brian in their bedroom back at the house.

"Good. Then let's make a choice already." Brian set Captain Astro off to the side, thinking it was ready to be packed away in a box to be moved with everything else. "Naked Guy goes." He looked the canvas over to see how he would carry the cumbersome canvas upstairs.

" _ **Wait!**_ " Michael blocked Brian from moving one more step.

"Michael, seriously..." Brian reached out to cup the back of Michael's nape, getting him to lift his head. Brown eyes connected with hazel. "... you're giving me a headache. _You_ said you'd make this move _easier_."

"Sorry. I, uh..." Michael reached up to latch a hand on Brian's wrist. "Were you _honestly_ thinking _he_ was _me_ \-- _that naked male model_ \--the _whole_ time?" He glanced up at Brian, quite demurely, under dark inky lashes.

" _Mmm-_ _h_ _mm..._ " Brian slowly nodded his head, then bent to mesh foreheads. "Did you _honestly_ bawl like a baby when you saw my 'gift'?" One finger came out to trace the full bottom lip.

"Yes." Michael nodded his head, feeling his face go flush. "I couldn't admit the truth to you the next time we saw one another." He moved out of Brian's way, helping him maneuver the canvas to the staircase. "I was too embarrassed." He stepped backward to allow Brian up the steps first. "I know you don't like it when I get highly emotional and sentimental." Which was how he was getting-- _right this second_ \--with these two objects in question.

"I had _some_ idea you loved it when I came over to your place, seeing where you placed it in the apartment." Brian dragged the awkward canvas along the wooden basement stairs. "Besides, if you want, _**I**_ can always paint you a real nude portrait of yourself."

Michael snickered loudly, blowing puffs of air out of his nostrils. "I'd want one of _you_ , not me."

"How 'bout this--" Brian paused to begin his offer.

" _ **No! We are not sitting for Justin!**_ "

Brian watched Michael sprint past him on the stairs, not bothering to help at all. "Hey, Mikey, don't be jealous." He couldn't stop chuckling as he rushed up the steps, a tad hindered by the oblong canvas.

 

**~*~THE END**


End file.
